The One I Loved, The Only One I Could

Some people fall in love like rain—suddenly, overwhelmingly. And then there are those like me, who never knew the storm was coming until it changed everything.

I wasn’t someone who believed in fairy tales or fate. I didn’t have a list of ideal traits or a vision board of how love should look. But when I met her, I understood what people meant when they said, you just know. She wasn’t a fleeting affection or a sweet crush. She was the kind of person who walked into your life and made every ordinary moment feel purposeful.

With her, it wasn’t just about stolen glances or warm texts. It was about silence that never felt awkward. About days that flew but left memories etched so deep they became landmarks in my mind. She was my first love. Not in a dramatic, naive kind of way, but in the real, soul-level way that only happens once.

And maybe that’s what people don’t understand when they throw around words like “move on” or “second chance.” I don’t look at love as something replaceable. To me, love isn’t about finding someone who checks boxes—it’s about finding someone who became a part of you. Like a rhythm you didn’t know you were dancing to until the music stopped.

I’ve been told I’m too stubborn, too rigid for not believing in “second loves.” That sometimes the second love treats you better, lasts longer, feels calmer. But that’s exactly the point—I don’t want calm if it means losing the spark that once made my heart race for her. I don’t want to be someone’s “better fit” or a “next chapter.” I don’t want to be a backup in someone’s unfinished story.

I’ve loved once, fully, deeply, and without holding back. And I know I can’t give that to someone else again—not because I’m broken, but because I already gave the whole of me. I don’t think love should come with terms like “almost” or “let’s try again.” Love, the kind I believe in, is not trial and error. It’s not convenience or settling. It’s not affection dressed as forever.

Some people are lucky. Their first love is their true love. They don’t have to unlearn someone’s presence or teach another person how they like their coffee, how they go quiet when something hurts, or what it means when they don’t speak at all.

Me? I was lucky enough to have known love that real—at least once.

And maybe that’s enough.

Because in a world that’s so fast to label emotions and so quick to move on, I still carry her in a place no one else will reach. Not as a wound, but as a reminder—that I’m not searching for love anymore. I already had it.

And it was never meant to be an option.